“But—”
The glare she sent stifled Angel. Shamefully, the girl bowed her head.
Constance pointed at the letter lying open-faced on the desk. “Now put that back. It’s time for lunch.” Without waiting to see if the girl complied, she left the room.
Angel was little more than a step behind her. “Constance, are you mad at me?”
It appeared today’s life lessons were hard ones—for both her and Angel. Constance pushed the kitchen door open, and held it for Angel to enter the room. “No, I’m not mad at you. But I am disappointed in you. Stealing someone’s privacy is easy, and it’s one of the most painful thefts a person can experience.” Draping an arm around Angel, Constance gently consoled, “Sometimes our curiosity gets the best of us, but when it comes to other people’s belongings, we need to let our inner conscience lead our actions. Your stomach told you not to read your father’s mail didn’t it?”
Angel nodded.
Constance ran her hand down the back of Angel’s golden curls. “Next time, remember how sad you feel right now, and your conscience will be even stronger.”
“I will,” Angel vowed. “I promise.”
“Good.” Constance placed a quick kiss on the top of the mass of curls and let the girl loose. “Now, what do you want for lunch?”
Angel, still glum, shrugged. Constance took her hand and led her toward the pantry. “Let’s see what looks good.”
“Constance, if you had somewhere else to live, would you?” Angel asked, stopping as Constance opened the pantry door.
An odd vibration raced up Constance’s spine. Frowning, she turned to gaze into Angel’s face, deeply concerned by what the girl wasn’t saying. Or maybe it was disquiet deep within herself she picked up on. There wasn’t any place else she’d rather live. In the short time she’d been at Heaven on Earth, she’d grown attached. Both to the home and the occupants. The knowledge wasn’t something she was prepared to accept. Yet, a deep sense of homecoming had planted itself within her soul the moment Ellis had stopped the wagon on top of the far hill to gaze down on the homestead, and had expanded until it was deeper and wider than the ocean she’d crossed from England.
She turned back to the pantry. It seemed a lifetime had passed since she’d packed most of her belongings in trunks and closed the door on her aunts’ home for the last time. Had she been excited that day? Byron had been waiting for her in the rented coach. It had been their wedding day.
“Would you?” Angel asked again, this time urgency laced her tone.
Constance released the foggy memories and stepped into the pantry. “Well, since I don’t have any other place to live, it really doesn’t matter, does it? Now, what looks good? I could make some more applesauce. Or I could make candied apple rings. Have you ever had those?” She knew she was rambling, but she had to. Leaving here—leaving Angel—was not something she wanted to talk about. “They’re delicious. Aunt Theresa taught me how to make them.” After handing Angel several apples, she took a large wheel of cheese from the shelf. “We can have a cheese sandwich with them. How does that sound?”
Angel looked at her speculatively, and then, as if she concluded it was the only answer she’d get to her question, nodded and moved toward the table.
Constance pressed a hand to the churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with food and swallowed against the bile bubbling into the back of her throat. The wave of understanding washing over made breathing difficult. That letter on Ellis’s desk was the reason Angel had asked the question. She’d read something. Had he found out about Byron’s death? Was he writing to ask someone for more details?
The envelope had been addressed to John Hempel. She couldn’t recall ever hearing the name. A flood erupted inside her mind. Angel had asked if she had somewhere else to live, would she. Was Ellis writing to people, hoping to find another place for her to live?
Dread, thick and heavy, settled around her. History was repeating itself again—she was being sent away.
Chapter Seven
His toes were stiffer than cowpies in January. Ellis rubbed his arms and stomped his feet to get the blood flowing and then led the roan into the stables behind Link’s place. The snow held, and hopefully would continue to wait until after he’d met with Hempel and made it back home.
Several times during the past few hours, he’d questioned this trip to town. Not his ability to survive it, but his reasoning. His mind paraded Constance Jennings around in his head like a campaigning politician, shouting promises that could never be kept. Yet the memory of baking bread with her that kept bounding in had kept him warm enough to survive the long, cold ride.
He stepped onto the boardwalk and, after a quick rap, opened the door to John Hempel’s office. In no time, the lawyer, a young man who’d moved to the territory last spring, confirmed Constance had every right to move out to Ashton’s place. Upon his deathbed, Ashton had had Hempel draw up a will, leaving most everything to his soon-to-arrive mail-order bride.
The visit was short. Hempel was fighting a cold, and clearly needed to go home and get some rest. He did ask Ellis to tell Constance as soon as he felt up to the ride he’d be out to tell her about Ashton’s will.
Ellis wasn’t ignorant of the law, but telling Constance she had someplace else to live didn’t settle well. Angel would be heart broken, not to mention the horde of men pursing Constance would probably double once they heard she was a landowner. The ride home would be longer with all this on his mind.
Hank was just where Ellis thought he’d be—at Link’s, sided up next to the tiny stove in the corner. Besides the usual smells of coffee beans and leather, a sweet scent floated on the air. It wasn’t a sickly odor, just different, somewhat tantalizing, and coming from the two good-sized canvas bags sitting on the countertop.
Link emerged from the back room, where he and his wife, Lula Mae, resided in quarters more cramped and cluttered than the store. “Aw, Ellis,” he greeted. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Untying the rope securing one of the bags, Link added, “I got something here you’re gonna like.”
Ellis wasn’t in the mood for one of Link’s sales pitches, but when Link pulled out an odd tube-shaped thing—about the ugliest looking object he’d seen yet—curiosity had him taking a closer look. “What is it?”
“A banana,” Link said. “It’s a fruit. Folks over in Europe love them.”
Ellis handed it back. “It looks like it’s half rotten if you ask me.”
Link replaced the object in the bag. “That’s only ’cause they froze. A cargo wagon was taking them up to Fort Laramie. The government bought a boatload of them for the soldiers. The wagon master said an army general ate one at a fair out in Pennsylvania last year, and ever since then has been on a mission to buy up all he can. Said they’re sweeter than candy.”
“They are.” Hank moseyed away from the stove, toward the counter. “I ate one,” he explained. “It was good, but kinda mushy.”
“That’s ’cause they froze,” Link insisted. “The wagon master said they got to get used up ’afore they go bad. That’s why I bought the lot. Figured you’d be interested in them.”
“I don’t have any use for them,” Ellis told Link, shaking his head.
“You might not have any use for them, but I bet Miss Jennings does.”
A shiver spiraled Ellis’s spine.
“The driver said people from England love bananas. I bet Miss Jennings hasn’t had one since she left the old shore. I bet she’ll be happy as a clam to have one.” Link was taking his time tying the bag closed. “Yes, sir, I bet that little gal would love to have a banana or two.”
Ellis breathed through his nose, questioning the way his insides took to flipping at the thought of Constance’s face shimmering with delight.
“And I bet Angel would jump for joy at the thought of being the only one around with bananas. That girl loves being the first to try something,” Link continued. “Yes, sir, those two gals back at your place will thin
k you are something, bringing them home these here bananas.”
He’d go on and on. Link wasn’t the best salesman, but he could talk a customer to death if you didn’t give in or leave. Ellis chose to give in, already anticipating Angel’s smile. And Constance’s. “All right, I’ll take a few home.”
Link patted the sack. “Got ’em all bagged up for you.”
“I said a few. I don’t need the whole bag. Con— Miss Jennings and Angel can’t eat that many.”
“It’s an all or nothing deal, Ellis.”
The man could try, but he wouldn’t get the best of him. Smile or no smile, he wasn’t hauling home the whole bag. “Then it’s nothing.”
Link hung his head, shaking it like a forlorn dog. “That’s a shame. No one else is gonna know what to do with them. I bought them just for Miss Jennings, knowing she’d lived in England and all.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Ashton told me. ’Afore he died of course. I bet he’d have bought them—the whole kit and caboodle—for Miss Jennings. She’d have been his wife by now of course, and he’d want to do anything to make her feel more at home out here in the wilds, knowing she was used to the finer and gentler things in life. Yes, siree, Ashton would have bought every last banana to make her happy.”
The balling of his insides made Ellis groan. “All right, I’ll take the lot.” The words were out before he knew what he’d said.
“I’ll just put them on your account.”
Never one to carry a balance, Ellis moved back to the counter. “No, I’ll pay you now.” He pulled out a few coins.
Link patted a bag. “It’ll be ten dollars.”
Ellis stopped his jaw before it dropped open. “Ten dollars?”
“Yup.”
“For rotting bananas?”
“Frozen. They froze. They aren’t rotten.”
“Either way, they aren’t prime,” he insisted. There wasn’t much use in arguing—not while the anticipation of surprising Constance with the fruit danced inside him like spring calves frolicking in the pasture. Besides, Link might just take it upon himself to deliver the lot to Constance himself. Ellis pulled money out of his hip pocket. The ranch had already experienced more than enough unexpected visitors.
“As prime as you’re gonna get out here. And the prime price is ten cents a piece.” Link took the money, counting out the bills one at a time.
“They aren’t going to be able to eat a hundred bananas no matter how good they are,” Ellis grumbled, moving to the door where the cold air might slap some sense into him. Wasting money was as unusual for him as bananas were to Wyoming. But here he was, spending ten dollars on mushy fruit the rest of the state hadn’t even heard of.
* * *
Constance added another log to the fire. The same wind rapping on the windows sucked the smoke, along with a goodly amount of the heat, up the chimney. Darkness had descended some time ago, cloaking the earth with a blanket so black a person would believe it was midnight instead of seven in the evening.
Supper was over, and Angel was on the couch, reading aloud from Little Women. Constance had no idea what chapter they were on now. Her ears had been tuned in to the door, her mind conjuring up reasons why Ellis hadn’t returned yet.
“Constance, do you want me to read it again?”
She pushed off the mantel and walked toward the sofa. “Read what again?”
“That last part. It was very exciting. Jo just read her writing to her sisters.”
The March sisters sharing Jo’s publishing joy had always been one of her favorite scenes. “Hmm, yes, that was exciting.”
“But you didn’t hear when I read it. You were staring off like you were dreaming of finding gold under the rocks in the creek.”
Constance sat down next to Angel. “I was picturing the story. Go on, keep reading.”
Angel looked at her curiously for a few seconds before she bent her head over the book and started reading again.
The story held Constance’s attention for a few sentences, but then she drifted off again, hoping something hadn’t happened to Ellis along the route. Angel wasn’t concerned. Several times the girl had explained how well her father knew the land and the weather. Most likely she was right. Ellis had lived in the territory for years.
The wind rattled the windows again. Last time she’d checked—a few minutes ago—snow was coming down at a steady pace. If the sun had been shining, perhaps she wouldn’t be so apprehensive. Sunshine always lifted her spirit. No matter where a person was, whether England or America, November was a gloomy month, full of gray skies and cold breezes.
Then again, maybe if she wasn’t so concerned over that letter, she wouldn’t be sitting here fretting up her own storm. The envelope still sat on his desk. She couldn’t read it. Wouldn’t read it. Yet she wanted to know what Ellis had written on that piece of paper as badly as Angel wanted to read the next chapter of Little Women.
Was he offering her to John Hempel? It wouldn’t do. Not only was she not willing to become engaged to another man, Ellis had offered her six months of employment. They had a deal, and she wouldn’t allow him to back out of it. This time the past wasn’t going to repeat itself. Furthermore, Angel needed her. Without the influence of another woman, the girl would grow into the spitting image of the cowboys filling the bunkhouse. Today was proof of that.
She was needed here, and no matter what Ellis decided, she’d stand her ground and remain at Heaven on Earth for the next six months. Come Hell or high water. She flinched as the expression floated over her mind. Angel had said those exact words not long ago, when talking about her father’s safe arrival. When Ellis did arrive home, she’d tell him everything. About Byron. About the authorities. And she’d ask for his help. He was an influential man. Perhaps he even knew the governor.
Even though she’d been a child, she remembered her father meeting with the Governor of Virginia. If she told her story to Ellis, and he told it to the governor, maybe that would clear her name once and for all.
Footfalls stomping up the front steps had Angel dropping the book. “I told you he’d be home soon.”
“I never said he wouldn’t.” Constance stood, smoothing her skirt with both hands while fighting the urge to run to the door—or for her room, she wasn’t quite sure which.
“You didn’t have to say it. The number of times you stared out the window told me you had your doubts,” Angel tossed over her shoulder as she left the parlor. “Hey Pa,” echoed back into the room.
“Hi.” Ellis’s greeting was followed by a loud sneeze.
Concern rippled her shoulders, making Constance hurry from the room. “Mr. Clayton?” His face was bright red, but more so, he shivered from head to toe. She rushed to his side to pull the heavy garment from his shoulders. “Here, give me your coat.”
“What took so long, Pa?”
“Hank’s horse went down in an icy patch,” he offered breathlessly, rubbing his hands up and down his arms.
“Oh, goodness. Is he all right?” Constance asked, duly alarmed.
“Yes, he’s fine. We just had to take it slow.”
“Was it Jacob?” Angel shook her head. “I warned Hank last week that horse isn’t as surefooted as he used to be. They’re both getting up in age you know.”
“No, it wasn’t Jacob.” Ellis patted Angel’s head. “And Hank is thawing out in the bunkhouse.”
Glad the other man was fine, Constance focused her concerns on Ellis. “Come into the kitchen where there’s hot coffee, and I’ll warm your supper.”
“What’s in the sacks, Pa?” Angel asked as Ellis bent to pick up two bundles.
“I’ll show you while I have a cup of coffee. I’m frozen to my bones.”
Constance held the kitchen door wide, but he nodded for her to enter first. It was silly, the way her insides fluttered whenever he was near. Disregarding the sensations as best she could, Constance gathered a cup and thanked her own good sense for having brewed a pot of cof
fee just a short time ago. Knowledge of how to run a home wasn’t foreign to her, and the ability to do so efficiently coaxed her determination to remain at the ranch. Not only did Angel need her, Ellis needed someone to look after his home, whether he knew it or not.
After setting the steaming cup on the table, she stoked the fire and transferred the plate of chicken and dumplings from the warming bin to the oven. While it heated she gathered utensils and bread, setting it all in front of Ellis as he told Angel about Hank’s horse slipping on the ice.
“Thank you, Miss Jennings,” he offered, when she slid the plate with bubbling gravy in front of him.
His smile made her insides do all kinds of things. “You’re welcome, but be careful, the plate is hot,” Constance warned. She returned to the stove before the gaze of his knowing eyes drove too deep. The letter hadn’t been far from her mind all afternoon, but now that he’d arrived home, she could barely refrain from blurting out that she wasn’t willing to marry any other man.
Of course they had other things to discuss as well, but in all honesty, neither of her engagements had been well thought-out. With Byron it had happened during the turbulent passing of Aunt Julia and the legal whirlwind that had followed. And with Ashton it had been an impromptu decision while dismal clouds of poverty and homelessness—or possibly prison—had shadowed her vision. Long days and nights of traveling across the nation had given her time to lament both events. She’d have married Ashton, had the poor man not perished before her arrival. A promise was a promise, regardless of how impromptu or regrettable.
Would Ellis understand that? It wasn’t that she was thankful Ashton had passed—he hadn’t deserved that—but she was happy not to be tied to a stranger for the rest of her life. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for marriage.
“Constance?”
Both father and daughter stared at her in question. They had the same eyes—dark brown and intuitive. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t hear what you asked,” she admitted what they already knew.
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